A History of Sanskrit Literature c11.s6.10

c11.s6.10

Of Kālidāsa's model for his poem we know nothing, but we can trace in it the influence of Vālmīki. In the *Rāmāyaṇa*¹ we have a brilliant picture of the contrast of the beauty of spring in the Kiṣkindhā forest as contrasted with the ceaseless sorrow of Rāma, bereft of Sītā, nor can we doubt that this has influenced Kālidāsa to draw the wonderful picture of Spring's advent and the revival of the youth and life of the world. There is a parallel too for Rati's despair¹; when Vālin falls Tārā addresses him with words not less sincere because they bear the stamp of the classic style: 'Why dost thus speak no more to thy beloved? Arise and share this fair couch with me; the best of men lie not, as thou, on the ground. Too dear dost thou hold, o lord, the earth even in death, since me thou dost leave alone and her hast clasped in thine embrace. Ended our days of joy together in the fair forest; sunken am I in a deep sea of sorrow, without joy, without sustenance, since thus hast departed. Hard my heart that it can see thee stretched on the ground and yet not break from sorrow.' Hints too for the demon Tāraka are clearly taken from the description of Rāvaṇa in the *Rāmāyaṇa*.² There are doubtless reminders here and there of Açvaghoṣa,³ as in the description of the actions⁴ of the women of the city on the advent of Çiva and Pārvatī, which has a prototype in the description in the *Buddhacarita*⁵ of the entrance of the prince, and which is taken up again in the description in the *Raghuvaṇça*⁶ of the entry of Aja and Indumatī.